twenty questions
by AlthaLeona
Summary: You are a merc who has just captured the one and only Richard B. Riddick. While you wait for your ship to arrive, why not play a game? Update: Prison, slam, and more.
1. disclaimer

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the PB characters, they belong to the writer, director, producers, etc. I just use the ready-made characters for my own strictly entertainment purposes. No profit is made by me. I share, but let me know if you would like to use anything from this story. 


	2. foreword

Foreword  
  
  
This is a strange story. It has no real plot. It is  
basically in interview with the one and only Richard B. Riddick.  
I have tried to arrange the questions so that they fall into  
chronological order, to try to make some attempt at normalcy.  
Though there are a few quotes from other people, Riddick is the  
only true voice. This story is written from his point of view,  
which I think would be a slightly warped version of reality.  
  
  
I have imagined Riddick to be very powerful, a bit  
conceited, mature and childish at times, highly intelligent,  
somewhat moody, and an all-around smartass. If the reader has  
submitted a question -- thank you for those who have -- and does  
not like the answer, please understand that I have tried to write  
this in such a way as to stay true to my perception of Riddick.  
  
  
Because I have not read the actual book, there will be  
discrepancies for those who have. Basically, I have made up  
everything that wasn't in the movie or what I haven't heard about  
the book. 


	3. twenty questions

Twenty Questions  
  
  
You've spent the past few years searching for me, I know.  
The question is, now that you've got me, what are you going to do  
with me? You're not just going to sit across the room and look at  
me, are ya? Here I am all tied up to this chair; you sittin' over  
there tryin' to decide if you're safe while we wait in this motel  
room until our ship arrives. That all? You just gonna take me to  
slam without so much as second thought?  
  
  
Didn't think so. Let me guess, you think that just because  
you're merc enough to catch me you can interrogate me too? All  
right. Let's play a game: Twenty Questions. You ask, and I'll  
answer. I won't guarantee that anything I say is true. Spotting  
the bullshit, well, that's part of the game. So ask me anything  
you want, but you better make each question count. You've only  
got twenty, after all. 


	4. what was your childhood like?

What Was Your Childhood Like?  
  
My first memory is a thin woman with her hair twisted up,  
wearing a suit that looked two sizes to big for her. I think I  
was four, and I don't even remember the woman's name. I just  
remember sitting across from her in a big wooden chair, and I  
didn't like her or the chair. She was telling me about some  
couple who wanted to adopt me because they tried for kids and  
couldn't have one, and how I'd better be a "good boy" or else.   
  
And then two women walked in and acted like jewelers  
appraising a diamond. They plucked me out of the chair and kissed  
my cheeks and kissed each other, and the other woman seemed glad  
to be rid of me. When we got to their house, I thought it was the  
best place in the whole universe because I had my own room and  
toys. They doted on me like I was a baby fresh from the womb.   
  
I don't think I've ever been given that much attention, at  
least, positive attention. Sari, one of them was Sari, she wanted  
more kids. They had had me for about eight months, and everything  
was fine. So, they went back to the adoption agency, and they  
brought home a baby. It was a girl who couldn't have been more  
than six months old, and they named her Rachel. Of course, they  
played me up as the big brother, and I think I did the job pretty  
well. I think that was the only place I was ever happy.  
  
But then Sari got sick a few months after my sixth birthday.  
Three days before I turned seven, Sari died. Delores, the other  
one, couldn't handle it. I don't think she even wanted kids to  
begin with. I think she just wanted to make Sari happy, and with  
Sari gone, she couldn't handle me and Rachel. We went back to the  
adoption agency, and Rachel and I were separated.  
  
I bounced around from foster home to foster home until I was  
eleven. Then two married settlers adopted me. They already had a  
bunch of other kids, and I think I was number nine. I was put on  
a ship to Halo VIII, and as soon as I set foot on that planet,  
the lines were drawn. James and Susan cared for us children, but  
we had to help out on the settlement. They had some kind of farm,  
and younger ones had to work the fields. The older ones worked in  
their gypsum mine. I never really got close to anyone in that  
house. I tried to runaway from there once, but there isn't many  
places to go on a practically uninhabited planet.  
  
When I was fourteen, James and Susan were arrested for  
violating some kind of child labor law. By then there was twelve  
of us, and we all went to different foster homes. I went to a  
home that housed seven kids, and they were a messed up bunch. Our  
foster parents were never home, and Gabriel, the oldest at  
sixteen, liked to pick on the younger kids. When I first saw him,  
I knew he'd be a threat.   
  
He was big, dumb, and mean, and didn't like me because I was  
just as big as he was and younger. I had been working in the mine  
for two years on Halo VIII, so I had built up a nice layer of  
muscle, especially in my upper body. When he finally got around  
to me we both ended up bleeding, though I'd like to think Gabriel  
got it worse. The fight was noticeable enough that when the  
parents saw us, they had to report it.  
  
Then there was Alexi. She was thirteen with the beginnings  
of a body, brown hair, green eyes, and teeth that were just  
crooked enough to give her smile character. She tried her best to  
flirt with me without it being obvious, but I began to pick up on  
it quickly. I returned the flirting as best as I could; I thought  
she was a fox in the making. I thought we'd just flirt until one  
of us left, because it was just flirting for months.   
  
That didn't mean I didn't think about her more than flirting  
with me. I was fourteen with a taste of testosterone. I had all  
kinds of fantasies about Alexi. When she kissed me one night  
before bed, I knew my fantasies could come true. So I started  
working on fulfilling them. The good thing was that she wasn't as  
innocent as I was. Alexi had been fooling around with Gabriel  
before I came -- which I guess is another reason he didn't like  
me -- and the boy had taught her some things. I lost my virginity  
four months after coming to that house. It lasted the better part  
of two minutes, but it was a pleasurable better part of two  
minutes. And when we were done, I remember she looked at me and  
said, "That was cute, Richard."  
  
We kept it up for a month. I learned a lot from Alexi. But  
Gabriel and I got into two more fights that had to be reported,  
and the parents caught me having sex with Alexi. All three of us  
were removed from the house.  
  
The next foster home I was assigned to had as many colorful  
people in it. There was a guy who was so much like Gabriel, I  
didn't bother to learn his real name but just called him Gabriel.  
He didn't like that too much. He was like Gabriel in the fact  
that he always picked on the other kids, and always tried to  
fight to get his way. Only, he wasn't as big as Gabriel. He had a  
short complex or something.  
  
While staying in the other foster home, I learned the value  
of lifting weights, so I had bulked up slightly more. And between  
working out and fighting with Gabriel -- that in itself was a  
workout -- I had sharpened my skills. Plus I had had a growth  
spurt. When the other Gabriel attacked, I kicked his ass. He  
wouldn't leave his room until the wounds were healed, so the  
parents never saw what I did to him and didn't have anything to  
report.  
  
There was no Alexi in this home. It was all boys, probably  
because they thought I would have sex with another foster sister.  
They were probably right. I have a very charming personality.  
Really.  
  
No Alexi, but there was a Darren. Stop, I didn't have sex  
with him. Darren was ten with cancer and was very small and  
almost frail from the sickness and treatments. He wasn't doing  
too well. The other Gabriel didn't help much either. My big  
brother instincts were just hibernating after Sari's death, and  
they came back again when Gabriel picked on Darren. Of course,  
Gabriel spent another week locked in his room. After that,  
Gabriel taunted from a distance, but never got too close to  
Darren.  
  
It was a good experience for me. I cared about someone else  
without wondering what I would get out of it. It felt nice.  
Helped with my self-esteem. At least that was what my  
psychologist said. Oh, I forgot to mention that, didn't I? Yeah,  
the people in charge figured that I was acting out in my previous  
foster home because of the "trauma" I had sustained from my time  
on Halo VIII. So, I was assigned to Mitzi Zui, a little, teary,  
woman from New Bangcok who believed that hugs were the answer to  
everything and insisted that I call her Mitzi.  
  
Anyway, I helped Darren out, he taught me how to play chess,  
things in the home were generally okay, and Mitzi agreed. And  
then one day, the other Gabriel and a group of his buddies  
attacked me outside of school. There were four more guys, and all  
of them against me because Gabriel wanted them to be. When it was  
over, I had broken one guy's nose and had two broken ribs myself.  
Gabriel and I were transferred to other foster homes.  
  
By this time, I had picked up the mentality that there was  
always going to be a Delores, or a James and Susan, or a Gabriel.  
So when I was put into foster homes, I started fighting  
immediately to establish myself. I went through homes once or  
twice every month it seemed, until I was sixteen. Then people got  
tired of dealing with me and turned me over to the courts, who  
put me into military school.  
  
That was a change. There were a thousand boys there. Yeah,  
they were still keeping me away from the girls. About seven  
hundred of the boys were all put there by some court or  
government agency. The rest were just screwed by there parents.  
Their fathers or mothers were in the military and believed it was  
the best upbringing possible. And there was a strong division.  
There was a line between those who were "trouble makers" and  
those who had military family. With a ratio of seven to three,  
you'd think the normal ones would leave the bad ones alone.  
  
But I guess that's how it is at every school like that. You  
always have someone trying to prove his dick is bigger than  
someone else's. Those places ain't nothing but a pissin' match. I  
think that's the meaning of life, a pissin' match. I made a few  
friends there, "friend" being defined as someone who watches your  
back and vice versa.  
  
Mitzi said it was the best place for me, that it gave me  
stability with the routine that it offered. She said that too,  
"offered," like I had a choice whether to take the drill  
sergeants up on their offers to make me do a Roman chair. And  
then she gave me a tearful hug and told me how I was a good boy  
on the inside and that was all that mattered.  
  
I liked it there, though. You knew that the people who ran  
it didn't care for you. There was no fake concern. It was raw and  
honest and the best kind of ass kicking you could ever receive.  
There was always someone behind you, beating you, but they beat  
you in a steady direction. There was no chance of slipping off  
the track, because they just kept beating until you reached  
wherever it was they wanted you to be. And they beat me until I  
was eighteen and graduated. I got to where they wanted me to be,  
and I wasn't a kid anymore. 


	5. how do you feel about your mother?

How do You Feel about Your Mother?  
  
In all honesty, I consider Sari to be the closest thing to my mother. I even called her "mom" once. You should have seen the way her face lit up when she heard me. It was like she had been  
missing something all her life, and she finally got it. To think,  
I actually caused her happiness.  
  
But you were asking about the woman who gave birth to me,  
weren't you? She. Doesn't. Count. She put me in a garbage bin  
outside a liquor store. She threw me away like last Sunday's  
paper. I don't know if I was born with the umbilical cord around  
my neck, or if she tied it herself. Either way, she never gave me  
a chance.  
  
If she had, who knows what could have happened to me. I  
could have had a completely different life. Who knows, maybe I  
could have had a "productive life-cycle." Those are Mitzy's  
words.  
  
Mitzi and I talked a lot about my feelings for my mother.  
She tried to tell me not to judge, that I have no idea what my  
mother was going through at the time. Maybe she was into  
something bad and was forced against her will to put me in the  
dumpster. Maybe she actually loved me very much, and I was  
kidnapped -- which didn't make too much sense, seeing that I  
still had the umbilical cord around my neck. Sometimes I  
countered with maybe she didn't get enough hugs. Mitzi, poor  
thing, agreed.  
  
My thoughts about my mother vary. Sometimes I think she  
should have finished the job and killed me. I hate the fact that  
she didn't. Look at me, I'm the most dangerous fiend in the  
galaxy. She could have stopped this. She had the chance. It  
almost worked.  
  
But then I think about the fact that all we have is life.  
When the shit is cut away, when every material thing is stripped  
off, what do we have? Life. That's it. That's all. That's  
everything. All any of us ever own is existence. And even that's  
on loan.  
  
So, how do I feel about my mother? Today, she's not too bad.  
Tomorrow, well, it depends on my mood. 


	6. have you ever tried to find your family?

Have You Ever Tried to Find Your Family?  
  
Humans are such strange animals. We have a need to know where we came from. I'm not talking about a physical location. I'm talking about a natural family. We have a need to know the other humans who caused our existence. Even I have often wondered about my parentage.  
  
They certainly wouldn't be proud of me, now would they? Congratulations, Dad, your baby boy's a murderer! Unless, of course, I come from a long line of twisted psychopaths who revel in destruction. Hmm, that doesn't sound too far fetched. Maybe I'm the victim here. Do you think I want to be this way? I can't help it, it's my genes.  
  
Trying to find my family is impossible. I don't know who my mother is, and that means she's never been around to tell me who my father is. Two people caused my existence, but neither of them stepped up to continue it. Ain't that some shit?  
  
So, I went to the next best thing. The owner of the liquor store was the person who found me in the dumpster. I was named after our valiant hero, so finding him wasn't too hard. I knew where I had been found, right down to the store. So I went there after I graduated from military school, and it was still Rich's Beverage Store.  
  
Rich was a man in his fifties, balding, short, a slight belly, and pasty skin. I don't mean to sound conceited, but I'm glad his name was all that I got from him. Rich had a good attitude, though. He was happy man, the kind that would pose as Santa Claus at Christmas. When I told him who I was, he grinned and said, "Good to see ya, son."  
  
I think Rich was more interested in me than I was in him. He asked me about my life and invited me to dinner. He had a wife named Sandra and two grown daughters, Jenna and Claire. Claire was at dinner, and she liked me a lot. In fact, she liked me so much that after dinner she invited me back to her dorm at the local college. I hadn't been in direct contact with any of the female population, unless you count Mitzi, for years. And here was one practically begging me to sleep with her a few hours after we met. I told you I was charming.  
  
Anyway, that fling didn't last long. After finding Rich, I developed a need to find Rachel and Darren. I went back to my first adoption agency. After struggling through red tape, I was finally able to get some information. Rachel had quickly been adopted after Delores sent us back. Ain't that just like a baby? Always getting adopted quick.   
  
I found out that the family that adopted Rachel, the Kilbournes, was the family that every abandoned kid is looking for. Mr. and Mrs. Kilbourne were both like Sari. They both wanted kids, but couldn't have them naturally. After trying three times with artificial insemination, they had turned to adoption. Rachel had been just what they were looking for. She had never had to be sent back to the agency or a foster home. Rachel had a good life with them.  
  
I was going to visit Rachel, but I realized that she wouldn't remember me or Sari. And maybe she didn't even know that she had been adopted. I didn't want to destroy Rachel's happiness, so I stayed away. Well, not really. I did go by her house once and saw her sitting on the porch, talking to one of her friends. She looked up and made eye contact, but she didn't recognize me. I just kept walking.  
  
I never found Darren though. He probably died. The cancer was really bad.  
  
I've visited Sari's grave a few times. It's way in the back of a cemetery on earth. There are a bunch of trees that kinda create a little shrine there. You walk inside it, and you don't feel wind or rain, and it's not too bright. I can take off my goggles there. Sari still loves me. 


	7. what does the 'b' stand for?

What Does the "B" Stand For?  
  
Out of all the questions you could ask me, you want to know my middle name? I find it hard to believe that it's that important to you. But hey, you asked, and I'll give you an answer. You know, I almost feel bad about counting this as a question. Almost.   
  
My middle name... You mean a merc good (that means lucky) enough to catch me doesn't have that high of clearance? What's that, level one-half security? You should have gotten a report on me when you took this case. Maybe you just missed it. But then again, if you were good (lucky) enough to catch me, I don't see how you could have missed a detail like that.   
  
The "B" stands for Bernard. I know, I don't seem like a Bernard do I? Unless you count Saint Bernards. And let's face it, I'm far from saint and I ain't a dog. Stop laughing. 


	8. what was life like in the military?

What was Life Like in the Military?  
  
I joined the military a year after I graduated. The military school I went to sort of grew on me. I missed it, in a weird kind of way. I missed the steady ass kicking. I guess Mitzi was right, I needed the structure and stability.  
  
When I got there, I had to go through boot camp. This wasn't a problem. I just kept getting bigger and stronger through school, and some of my drill sergeants were afraid of me. So, even though I worked hard, I guess I may have gotten things a little easy. This was okay with me though, except when I had to fight off a jealous soldier or twelve.  
  
After graduation, I was briefed immediately. Some higher-ups had seen my work and thought I would do well in a highly specialized field. So I began flight training along with sharp-shooting and black ops. In less than a year, I was given command over a platoon.  
  
I got to know each of my men. I knew what made them tick, what made them who they were. I knew exactly what each one needed to be productive, and I made sure they all got a healthy serving of it. I even got to know a few on a "first name" basis.  
  
Joey was a GI, a "general issue" soldier. He didn't have a lot of skills, but he had a heart and a mind for what he was doing. He wasn't the best soldier I had under me, in fact, he was the worst. Joey was tall, lanky, uncoordinated, and several disasters waiting to happen, but he was fine with it. I asked him once why he didn't try to improve. He told me that he knew his limitations. So I asked him why he stayed. He joked that it was what he was best at. At least, I hope he was joking.   
  
Nick was the type of man who would kick your ass and have a beer with you in the same night -- in that order. He got hot when he was angry, but was over it quickly. I liked having him around when we were on leave and at a bar. Every time, it seemed, someone would want to pick a fight with us because we were soldiers. Nick and I would beat them up, then we would go back to our drinks and not have to say another thing about it.  
  
In time, a lot of the members of my platoon were shed, including Joey. My commanding officers wanted me to be the leader of a small unit that did covert jobs. Those in my platoon were there on an experimental basis. They wanted to find which soldiers worked best together and would be the most functional. Luckily, Nick was next in line to me.  
  
Nick and I became a team within a team. A wheel within a wheel. A lot of times, I would get an assignment requiring just two people. So, I'd get Nick to help me. We'd move in and get the job done, and no one else in my little team would know about it. Nick and I had a lot of fun on most of the assignments.  
  
We were the best. We knew it. So we approached things kinda laid back. That's not to say we were slacking. We did the job well, but we didn't worry over things too much unless we were being shot at, which sometimes happened. Even then, it didn't break our cool so much.  
  
I started to become a little jaded with the whole military thing when on a mission in the Tarsier sector. This time, I had to take all of my unit. We were battling with impossible odds. An entire moon against twenty-four soldiers, including me.   
  
We were sent there to kill the leader of a renegade army that had formed. They had tried to take over a series of mining colonies on Reagent, the planet that owned the moon. Once the death was accomplished, troopers would storm in and take care of any further resistance.   
  
As the plan was laid out, no one was supposed to know we were there. We would land on the dark, uninhabited side of Roma in a stealth ship running on "cold." No lights, no noise, no nothin'. From the angle that we came in, it would take an act of God for the renegades to track us.  
  
When we landed, we had hit the exact spot on the map. It was perfect as far as that part of the mission went. I remember looking over at Nick, and we smirked, thinking it would be an easy in-and-out job. We unloaded from the ship and traveled eight miles on foot before we reached the light. Then we set up a small, temporary camp and used satellite images to plan where we were going to attack and how we would get there.   
  
I gave my men thirty minutes to rest. Then, after making sure that everyone knew the plan, we set out to Drake Ignacio's compound.  
  
The trip there was uneventful. Really, it was just us running, jumping, climbing trees. That was it. We made it to the compound and went over the plan once more. Hey, I'm a perfectionist.  
  
Then we split up. A group of twelve set off to open the way. They did it silently, remarkably well. I was proud. Once that was done, the group that I was leading pierced the compound. We fractioned off at different intervals, taking out anyone we passed without causing any alarm.  
  
Finally, Nick and I were in the bedroom of Ignacio and his wife. They were comfortably asleep in their large, soft bed. I issued one silenced shot to Ignacio's head, which woke up his wife by the sheer force of the bullet. She tried to scream when she saw that her husband was dead and we were in the room, but she couldn't get it out.   
  
Once we had killed Ignacio, our orders told us not to kill anyone that wasn't an immediate threat. The wife was only a threat as long as she could scream. I grabbed her and picked her up, my hand over her mouth. I held her immobile against my body and moved my head beside hers so I could tell her to be quiet or I would kill her too, but a bright red explosion covered me.   
  
Two seconds later, I realized that I was okay, but I was covered in blood and the woman was missing a large portion of her head. I dropped her and looked towards Nick, fully expecting to see him dead and one of the renegades aiming at me.   
  
But he was there, settling his gun. And at that moment, I hated him. I didn't hate him because he had put my life in danger; hell, I'd trust him to shoot a silhouette of my head. I hated him because it was the first time I realized that I killed people just because I was told to.   
  
Maybe some of the people I had killed were innocent, like Ignacio's wife. No, I told myself, I hated Nick because he made me doubt myself. That had never happened before.  
  
True to Nick, he never said a word about it. Which was good, or I might have killed him before we left the room. I had the opportunity. Ignacio could have been awake, and he could have shot Nick before either of us could do anything. No one would check. We were on our way out. But I was too shocked to do anything.  
  
We left, without a word to each other. We made it out of the compound and back to our ship. What was good about my unit is that anyone could perform any task. It didn't matter if everyone but one person was killed, the survivor could take off. If the guns specialist got shot, it didn't matter because we were all specialists. Same with medical and communications. So I pulled the designated pilot out of his seat, and I strapped myself in and didn't bother with making sure the rest of my unit was safely tucked away in their chairs.   
  
The whole flight back to our port, I thought about what could have been different about the bedroom scene. I had taken the woman in my arms and was about to warn her to be quiet. After that, I could have tied her up and locked her in the adjoining bathroom. Someone would have found her in the morning, and she would be alive.  
  
But that didn't happen. Nick took that decision away from me. So I sent a message to HQ and demanded that either Nick or myself be relieved from our positions in the unit.  
  
And that, as they say, was the beginning of the end. I was transferred to a huge platoon in the Rangers which was quickly sent to battle on some hell hole of a planet. They were all killed. I only survived because of the specialized training I had received.  
  
I wanted out. But I knew that the government wouldn't invest that much money and trust in me and just let me go with a pension and a cheap gold watch. The only way I would get out was if there was a flag draped over my coffin. So, I started digging.  
  
The Company had wasted four hundred and ninety-nine Ranger lives to test me. They were betting that I would be the only one to make it out alive. And when I had my proof and my ticket out, they pinned the massacre on me with my first prison sentence. 


	9. how do you feel about the people who set...

How Do You Feel About the People Who Set You Up?  
  
At the time, I felt betrayed. It was, like, I knew what to  
expect, but I didn't expect it. You know what I mean? I didn't  
want to think of the heads as being malign entities that would  
destroy as they pleased.  
  
But I should have. When Nick made me doubt myself, I had a  
half-formed thought of what my commanders and their higher-ups  
were really like. But it never really had a chance to grow.  
  
Then, after all those boys, and they were babies, were  
killed, I had to realize that what I had been a part of was  
something that was gray. It wasn't black and white, good and bad,  
it was gray. And I had to make a decision about how gray I wanted  
to be, how gray it really was, and how gray was too black.  
  
So, I made my decision and it backfired. I ended up in  
prison. And while I was in prison, I started to understand that  
the people behind this did what they did to save their own asses.  
I guess I can relate to that.  
  
Yeah, I can relate, but I'm still pissed. 


	10. what was prison like?

What Was Prison Like?  
  
Hell.  
  
Military school.  
  
Military school on a bad acid trip to Hell. Yeah, that's  
more like it.  
  
It was a military prison, actually. The first one, at least.  
But it was like the school, except that there was no one there  
just because their parents wanted them to be. We were a ratio of  
one to zero of bad to good. The guards weren't even good. They  
were a part of what put me there, they couldn't be good. There  
was a priest there, but I only met him once. I can't say if he  
was good or not, so I won't let him count.  
  
In the few months I was there, I had to establish myself.  
Here I was, the good guy for once, against men who were for the  
most part bad. I was noble in this whole thing. Noble, me, you  
never thought you'd hear that, did you?  
  
So, when someone decided to take me on, I kicked his ass.  
Then someone else and another ass. I would say five people tried  
to fight me.  
  
Each time I got into a fight, I was put in solitary  
confinement for a week. And these stupid bastards, they kept  
putting me in the same cell. Surely, someone as well trained as I  
was would find any weakness in this cell. And I did.  
  
I remember leaning up against the back wall and hearing cars  
traveling down a road. The wall wasn't even thick enough to block  
out the sound. The door had weak hinges. It shook in its frame  
every time it was slammed. The guard always tapped each door with  
his baton on his way by at the same time every day. And, most  
importantly, I was given an actual metal fork with my meals.  
  
So, one day, I decided to see what I could do. When my meal  
was slid through the little slot, I ate it and tucked the fork  
into my pocket. I had started counting when I was first put into  
it -- it keeps you sane when you're all alone with nothing but  
your thoughts. And I knew that somewhere between one thousand  
eight hundred and two thousand one hundred, the guard would begin  
his tapping on the doors of this hall. He didn't disappoint me  
that day.  
  
If I started counting after the guard had finished his  
tapping, someone would come by to pick up my tray between six  
hundred and nine hundred. At about three hundred after the guard,  
I began to work my way out.  
  
Out of sheer determination on my part, I broke the door  
down. In order to keep the other prisoners quiet, I yelled  
through the door that I would also let them out. After several  
kicks at the weak hinges, the door came off at it's hinges,  
allowing me to slid through the lopsided gap it made.  
  
True to my word, I bent a little metal thingy on the fork  
and picked the locks as fast as I could. Hey, I may be a volatile  
little bastard, but I'm honest. Mostly. And, besides, it was  
great cover for me to have those guys running around creating  
static.  
  
I kept the road to my left and quickly found an exit. Of  
course, it was locked. So I found a hiding spot and waited until  
those morons caused enough of a stir that the guards had to rush  
through the door to get them.   
  
As the last guard passed, I recognized him as Joey, the  
uncoordinated friend I had before my platoon was reduced to a  
small unit that included Nick. Of course, he was straggling ten  
feet behind the rest of the guard herd, so I grabbed him.  
  
I placed the fork to his neck, right over the carotid  
artery.   
  
Don't look at me like that, a fork is a very handy weapon,  
especially when nothing else is available. With the right force,  
I could stick a straw through you, and stainless steel forks are  
much sturdier.  
  
So, I acknowledged Joey, and I told him I wouldn't kill him  
if he helped me out. He recognized me right away, it's that charm  
again. I'm unforgettable. I got his gun and he led me through  
some security points and out to his vehicle, it was some type of  
military jeep. And we sped off.  
  
I ended up dropping Joey a few miles away and thanked him.  
He knew I wouldn't have hurt him. There was too much of that big  
brother shit creeping up on me when I was around him. He knew it,  
and he helped me anyway. I think he was the only person to  
believe in me then. I couldn't kill the only hope for me.  
  
I was caught and sent back to prison a few months later. I  
was in some run down old bar, and would you like to guess who  
walked in? My old buddy Nick.  
  
I... I was drunk, I'll admit that. And when I saw him, I  
just remember having to wipe that poor woman's brain matter off  
me. And that thought ricocheted off another that I had realized  
in prison: Ignacio's wife looked a lot like Sari. In fact, when  
I'm drunk, that woman is Sari.  
  
And when I'm drunk, whoever hurts someone I connect with  
Sari, has hurt Sari too. Nick didn't just hurt Sari, he killed  
her. Right in my arms, he shot her and she was gone forever  
again. At this point, all of the hatred I felt towards Nick came  
back to me.  
  
So I crossed the bar and took out my gun and shot him. There  
was a girl with him, and I briefly wondered if she looked to me  
as I must have looked to Nick when I was covered in someone  
else's gore.  
  
I ran. I ran from that place. I ran from Nick. I ran from  
everything in my life that had been leading up to that gentle  
pressure I used to caress the trigger of that gun. I had just  
killed someone because they were there. I had become the murderer  
that everyone had already assumed of me. But I was a murderer to  
myself now. And I knew that if I ever ran across Joey again I  
would have to kill him too, because what he believed in died in  
that bar. Even though there was so much space between us, I ran  
from Joey too.  
  
I couldn't run fast enough. I was caught within a week and  
was sentenced later to more time in prison.  
  
This was just another less than extraordinary prison. And I  
spent my time there just like any other inmate. Though, I was  
more respected here, because I had a military background that no  
one else had. Sure, there were a few army men there, but I was  
the best out of all of them.  
  
I kicked more asses there. Got mine kicked once. Once. I  
never tried to figure a way out of solitary. I wouldn't have to  
kill Joey if I never saw him again. I was content to fight,  
sleep, eat, and do all the other things on a schedule.  
  
Until I got a letter from Joey. It was a suicide note. He  
went on and on about how guilty he was in this whole thing. If he  
hadn't helped me, Nick would still be alive. It was his fault,  
and he couldn't live with himself any longer. Joey killed himself  
because I killed his hope.  
  
From then on, I went on auto-pilot. I don't know what  
happened, but there was a riot and I escaped. This time, I was  
more careful about drinking. 


	11. what was slam like?

What Was Slam Like?  
  
Slams are prisons completely different than other prisons.  
Slams are the closest thing to Hell you can get and still be  
living.  
  
After I killed a few people -- they all had it coming --  
they threw me into what they called a high risk, multi-maximum  
security prison on one of Saturn's moons. What it really was: a  
hole dug in the ground and then covered with concrete, with cells  
about the size of a hall closet and dim, yellow light bulbs  
placed at twenty feet intervals. No one there would ever see  
daylight again. And the dark spaces between light bulbs was where  
inmates lurked on others.  
  
There where several levels. I think it was designed to mimic  
the seven levels of Hell. The top had skylights, but only the  
guards and other administrative people were there. It was their  
workspace, and no prisoner was allowed up.  
  
The second level was the non-violent prisoners. A lot of  
blue-collars who stole more than a million credits were sent  
there.  
  
The third level was additive misdemeanors. If you broke the  
law so many times that you were sentenced to life, you went to  
level two.  
  
Fourth level: most felonies. Same as the third level, but  
with repeat felons.  
  
Level five housed the sexual offenders with the exception of  
child molesters.  
  
The sixth level had the murderers. Most of the murderers  
anyway.  
  
The seventh level, the last basement of Hell. It was  
solitary confinement for those of us who were considered the most  
damned motherfuckers ever. Child molesters were sent here, but I  
think it was more of a political move than concern for the  
victim, and killers like me went here. If anyone caused a problem  
in the other levels, they were put here too.  
  
This slam was in bad repair, like most I guess. The doors in  
level seven, and a few of the other levels too, didn't lock  
anymore, allowing us to completely ignore the solitary thing.  
  
I knew immediately that I would need to be able to see down  
here, to keep my life. I was in the one place that had people  
more dangerous than I was. Before I could get it done, I would  
barricade my door with my bed. I could hear the other inmates  
screaming at night when a few of the guys decided they needed  
some satisfaction, whether is was sexual or otherwise. I was  
determined not to let it happen to me.  
  
I found out about a doctor on my level who had killed his  
patients because they were the wrong skin color. Lucky for me,  
the right skin color was brown. I was told that I was "too white"  
for him, but it was dark. His price was twenty menthol Kools. If  
I had to steal from the other prisoners, I could do that. But the  
last person in my cell before me was a smoker. He had left behind  
twelve cigarettes in a crack in the wall. I only needed eight  
more, which I could get from the others. I bummed a few, and  
stole what I could get.  
  
So the doctor made a house call. He brought a lot of things  
that I was glad I didn't get to see until after it was over. I  
don't know where he got it, but I didn't ask many questions  
either.  
  
The shine job consisted of several painful steps. First, he  
tied me to the bed and propped my eyes open with toothpicks. Then  
he started. He shave off the lenses of my eyes. I think I passed  
out during the first one. Later he told me that he dilated my  
pupils to add a coating of something I can't pronounce to my  
retinas and irises. I woke up again when he was grafting my  
lenses back on.  
  
I laid in bed for a week, hoping to die. I couldn't handle  
the pain. I couldn't close my eyes because it bothered the  
lenses. But I couldn't keep them open because the air bothered  
them too.  
  
A few times, I could feel the other people tryin' to break  
through my barricade while I was incapacitated. When I finally  
stopped crying blood and the whites of my eyes turned white  
again, I walked out of my cell to get a better test of my eyes.  
The light bulbs bothered me a little, but if I didn't look  
directly at them, I was fine. I could see in the spaces between  
the light almost perfectly. I say almost because my color  
perception had been drastically distorted. Everything had a  
pinkish purple tinge to it. It still does.  
  
Purple aside, it was functional. That's all I needed. I was  
able to sleep better at night, because I didn't have to worry so  
much about someone getting in my cell and not being able to see  
them.  
  
But then the civil rights activists started acting up. It  
was inhumane to keep prisoners in such darkness. Blah, blah,  
blah.  
  
So, in an effort to shut them up, inspectors were sent into  
the Slams. Along with adding fresh lights, they decided that the  
broken cell locks just wouldn't do. But they decided more had to  
be done with us. They came up with chains and horse bits for  
prisoners who caused major problems. (Wouldn't you know it, I  
quickly became one.)  
  
The activists, though they weren't happy about the rest of  
the changes, were finally stopped by public opinion. The  
governments convinced the rest of the free worlds that it was in  
their best interest. They were probably right.  
  
Several times throughout my stay at Hostel de Slam, I ended  
up chained to a wall with a bit in my mouth. Let me tell you,  
that is one of the most uncomfortable things in the world. The  
bit holds your jaw open, which starts up this bone deep ache, and  
your teeth hurt from the metal. It's like chewing on tin foil  
magnified by one hundred.  
  
One of the few times I was out of chains and in my cell, I  
heard about the supply and transport ships that came about once a  
month -- that gave me an idea, but I still didn't have the means  
to accomplish it. I knew I would figure something out though, so  
I wasn't worried.  
  
After a year or so I got my chance. We got a new warden who  
didn't care about the rules. He left the doors unlocked, even the  
ones between levels. He told us he didn't care if we killed each  
other, that, in fact, it would make his job a lot easier. He said  
that people had stopped caring about us, so what we didn't  
matter. But if we crossed him, he'd kick our asses.  
  
I started plotting at that moment. I made a trip to the  
kitchen. I searched it for a knife, and found several. The  
non-violents were the only ones allowed to cook, so they kept a  
supply of sharp utensils. I took it and went back to my cell. I  
had begun the barricades again, so I waited three weeks there  
alone.  
  
When they were up, I went to the second level. I had been  
told that you could hear the ships from there. It would have to  
do, since I couldn't put my hands on a shipping schedule. I only  
knew approximately when the ship would come. Luckily, I heard the  
ship on my second day up there. I followed a route that I had  
mapped out before, and was able to get up to the first level  
without much of a hassle.  
  
The first level was lit more brightly than the others, and I  
almost couldn't make it. But I had come that far, I couldn't turn  
back.   
  
I came across a few guards and killed them with my knife. I  
found an emergency map on a wall, and it had exactly how to get  
to the service port. So, squinting until my eyes were almost  
closed, I followed the map, killing others in my way.  
  
I found the door out, and took a breath. I flung it open and  
was met with harsh sunlight. I put my hand up to fend it off, and  
was able to see the ship out of the corner of my eye. I had a  
straight shot to it, so I closed my eyes and ran.  
  
When I judged that I had made it three quarters of the  
distance, I half opened my eyes. I could see that I had gotten a  
little off course, but I was in the shadow of the ship. I  
adjusted, and it was dark enough that I could open my eyes more.  
  
About the time that I touched the ship's door, I heard the  
sirens. Someone had discovered my bodies and set off the alarm.  
But it didn't matter, I was on the ship. I nearly fell out,  
though, when the antsy pilot took off without warning. The door  
closed behind me, and I could hear the tower ordering the pilot  
to land and kill his engines. But we broke the atmosphere, and he  
thought he was safe.  
  
I cut the lights and found my way, quietly, mind you, to the  
cabin. The pilot had left in such a hurry that he was the only  
one on the ship. He was on edge, but easy. I stepped behind him  
and slit his throat. I saw his eyes flick towards me in our  
reflection on the window. We were lit up with green from the  
control panel, but he was gurgling and soon to be dead. Then I  
drug his body to the nearest airlock and let him go into space.  
  
After that, I knew I would need to protect my eyes out in  
the free world. So I went searching through everything until I  
found a pair of welding goggles that had been left by the ship's  
maintenance crew member. They worked well, and I could see  
without pain when the lights were on. 


End file.
